This week I signed up for a flu shot. What a wimp.
I always considered it a sign of weakness to get a flu shot. I never got sick — my body was too strong for that, what with my young laser-armed antibodies and secret ninja lymph nodes.
I didn't even get sick after my first child was born. I was led to believe that having a baby in the house was a surefire way to ensure that we would be sick at all times, as if we'd all taken up a new diet consisting solely of unwashed doorknobs and wadded up Kleenexes. But it didn't happen when our first baby was born, or even when our second came along two and a half years later.
The only blip was when a friend brought her young toddler over while he was in full code green. The child proceeded to toddle around our little apartment and put his mouth on just about everything, my wife following closely behind taking note of every item so that she could later put it in the freezer. Why the freezer? I never really figured that one out. To ice all those little boogies?
Whatever the intricate science involved in the freezer boogie hypothesis, it didn't work — a few days later we were all sick. Aside from that, however, we've been healthier than Kanye's ego. Or Kim's . . . um . . . well let's just say ego again and move on.
Everything changed, however, after my oldest son strapped on a backpack and set off on his first day of preschool. Approximately seven minutes later my entire family was deathly ill and we've seemingly stayed that way ever since.
It's mostly been coughs and snot, but last winter my son got the flu, then my other son got the flu, then I got the flu. Nothing sparks parenting shame quite like pushing your barfing toddler out of the way so that you can barf on top of the barf that he's just barfed in the toilet. That's a lot of barfs, you might say. To which I'd reply: it sure was. You're gross, you might say. To which I have no rebuttal.
Anyway, we all got better and enjoyed a wonderful, healthy summer together before my eldest returned for his second year of preschool and we all immediately went back into mucous mode.
This is all happening despite the fact that my wife makes sure we are all eating right and getting plenty of exercise and fresh air. We've even stopped making the kids sleep in that cardboard box under the front steps. Hey, it's cold out. (Note to social services: these are just jokes. I, in fact, eat horrible things all day when I'm at work).
We've even changed our sick-day policy for our son. We used to be so thrilled to get him out of our house so that he would stop riding his baby brother like a donkey for a few hours that we would send him to school in almost any condition. Hey you little rascal, tape that lung back on and get in the car. Now we keep him home at the first sign of sniffles. Of course, nothing has changed. We're still all sick, all the time. We're all sick right now, in fact.
I went for a jog in the cold November air this week and my scratchy throat bounced and ached with every step until it fell right off, rolled down my jacket, bounced off the sidewalk and into a storm drain. I fished it out and gave it a good scolding — no easy feat considering the state of my throat — before cramming it in my mouth and jamming it back into place with a soggy twig.
The lesson we've all learned is that healthy living is no match for a classroom full of children. When I picture my child's classroom now I basically imagine a super fun ball pit except with all the balls replaced by various super fun diseases.
I feel powerless to stop it, and so I've decided to give the flu shot a try. Call it an experiment of sorts. If bowl season arrives this winter and I manage to stay out of the mess, I'll forever be a convert. We'll see, I guess — it's worth a shot.
